


Slipping Into The Void

by ChillOfTheVoid



Category: Captain America (Movies)
Genre: Anxiety, Brock sucks, Depression, Explosion, Humilation, M/M, Pre-Relationship, Suicide Attempt, future Brock/Jack, not of the sexual kind tho, rookie Jack
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-05-08
Updated: 2016-05-15
Packaged: 2018-06-07 02:44:01
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 1,406
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6782176
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ChillOfTheVoid/pseuds/ChillOfTheVoid
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Falling is not ideal. It is convenient though.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Not Everything Ends In Regret

**Author's Note:**

> Jack does some sad stuff in this one.

Falling is not ideal. It is convenient though.  
Jack is standing on the Triskelion parking garage roof, looking out at the horizon. He's not scared of heights, but he doesn't love them.

He thinks it's probably fair he doesn't get to pick the way he actually wanted to do it. It's not fair to the people that will find the crushed form of him on the ground, or to his family who will have to come clean out his house. He packed everything up though, sorted it into what mattered, what didn't. He thought about sending them his stuff, but if something changed and he didn't jump tonight, he didn't want them to worry. SHIELD was a mistake, HYDRA was a mistake.

He was twenty-eight, and not at all prepared to be trapped. It had been six months since he joined. Joined. That was funny. More like 'agree or die'. HYDRA couldn't have people running around with their secret. He'd chosen to agree.  
Funny how that was no longer the case.

It's ten parking garage floors to the ground. It's at least a hundred feet. It's enough.  
There are four cars and his bike up here. If any of the people who own those four cars come up, he probably won't look too suspicious, admiring the city from afar.

Jack hates the city.  
He's from the country, the Midwest. He can't stand the city.  
His note says to bury him at home, he hates this place.

The other rookies don't like him. He's the only openly gay one there. He's also the only one that vomits in the bathroom after he's forced to give a solo report. Talking is not his thing, especially any sort of public speaking. His superiors say he's shy. His psych eval says he has enough possible mental issues to be benched before he even gets on a team. So far, no one's brought that up. They might be tomorrow.

Jack sighed. He irrationally thought he'd drop like lead in water, he felt so heavy. His chest ached with the weight.  
He studies the horizon another moment and thinks about his sisters.  
He thinks about his mother.  
He thinks about Matthews, the other rookie who had never referred to him as anything but fag.  
He thinks about how he'd much rather be drowning or swallowing way too many pills.  
Jack stepped up onto the ledge, looking down finally.  
He thinks how much this is going to hurt. It doesn't matter. He isn't afraid of pain, if the flesh he'd removed from his own body were any indication.

Jack closed his eyes, and stepped off.

His attempt was very quickly halted by an arm around his waist yanking him back. Jack fell on top of the smaller form, rolling off with a groan only to be pinned down by the other, who was screaming in his face. It took a moment to recognize the angry man. Rumlow, the youngest commander. One of the trainers.  
"What the fuck was that, Rollins?" he shouted. "Were you gonna fucking jump?"  
Jack nodded and was promptly backhanded. He couldn't remember the man's first name, he thought absently.  
"I ought to fucking push you myself," the commander said, no quieter. "Never do that again. Ever!"  
He nodded.

"Yes, sir."


	2. A Little Public Humilation Never Did Anyone Any Harm

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Brock doesn't know when to keep his mouth shut.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> New chapter! Please correct me if there any typos, I kind of wrote most of this half asleep.

Probably the worst thing about a suicide attempt is getting caught.

At least that's how Jack feels with Rumlow side eyeing him all the time. It aggravates him that he is very rarely alone. He's a solitary being, likes to sit at the back of rooms, stand apart from the group. To Rumlow, that's all well and good, until he tries to slip off by himself for a breath, a smoke, or a piss, where he's followed. It's annoying, but he probably deserves it. He's certainly not allowed around the roof. 

Rumors start that they're fucking, which is not the case, obviously. Even if Rumlow is a pretty good looking guy. 

Jack stepped out of the training room, getting six steps (he counted, as always) before he hears the commander follow him. He sighed, but kept walking. His eye was bothering him, looking way off in the wrong direction. 

Slipping into the bathroom, he finds it empty, luckily. He gets all seven steps to the sink, and he still doesn't hear Rumlow enter. It isn't until Jack's leaning towards the mirror, trying to see if there's an injury that the door opens. 

Rumlow steps over to the urinal, and Jack is silent as he takes a piss then comes over to the sink one over. 

"I hope you don't have any plans of becoming a spy," he commented. "Cause you can't tail for shit." Rumlow snorted, washing his hands as Jack leans back from the sink, the ache eased finally. 

"Who says I'm trying to be sneaky?" He shrugged. That's a fair point. "You neither though. You're not exactly subtle." 

Jack chuckled, "That's true." 

The comment stung slightly, sending him into a bit of a mental tailspin. 

He hesitated so long, he should've just done it 

He'd known he might get caught. 

He hadn't wanted to, but he did

By the time he can hear anything over the litany of 'attention seeker' in his head, Brock is finishing a sentence. 

"Huh?" Jack asked. He felt a bit dumb, flushing when Brock laughed. 

"Asked if you've got a girl I can tell on you to." He shook his head, silent. "Boy?" Jack shook his head again. 

They'd spent too long in the bathroom, no wonder people thought they were fucking. 

Rumlow nodded at him. Brock, he recalled. He'd seen it written down yesterday. 

He didn't miss the quiet "Good," that Brock left the bathroom with. 

 

\----

 

Brock Rumlow is not a kind man. 

It's not an insult, it's a fact. He's cruel and insensitive and perhaps just a little stupid. 

Jack decided this was unbelievably true when he fucked up. He was a demo guy, always had been. He was good at his job, but occasionally handling explosives in high stress situations did not go well.

Rumlow is leading his lack of rookies on a field mission. It goes well enough until they're all but bugs in a jar, trapped in a cement warehouse. 

Jack is calm as he sets the explosive. It's a large room, and a  fairly small blast radius. The other rookies are giving their guns hand jobs in their anxiety. It makes Jack nervous, though Rumlow makes them all turn their safeties on. 

"You almost done over there?" Rumlow called. They all stood twenty feet away, watching Jack.

He hated how much attention being demolitions got him. 

"Nearly," he called back, screwing a last few screws in. He checked the timer, not a real digital movie bomb timer, just small bundle of wires with a cheap digital watch face. 

"How soon is nearly?" 

Jack ignored him. Being rushed would not make it go faster. 

He finished a minute later, grabbing his gear up and studying the bomb, turning on the timer. 45 seconds. It gave him plenty time to jog out of the blast radius.  

4.5 seconds later, the bomb went off. 

 

Jack woke a voice shouting through the ringing in his ears. His back hurt and he had a hell of a headache. 

He groaned, ignoring the voice.

\--

He can't ignore the voice when he's sitting the the van and Rumlow decided being embarrassed about fucking up the timer isn't enough. 

Jack his fine, thiugh he'll probably be trapped in medical observation for a nice. Brock is sitting across and to the right of him. He doesn't speak quietly in a van full of rookies. 

"This another one of your attempts?" he asked. A few questioning eyes land on him and Jack feels his face light up bright red. 

He shook his head. "It was an accident." 

It really was. He wouldn't pull something like that. Someone else might've gotten hurt. 

Rumlow did not look convinced. 

"Hell of an accident to make."

"You're telling me." There are a few chuckles, but they sound nervous. The tension is palpable and no one else understands why Brock is doing this, why he's being accusatory. 

"Gonna get medical to do a psych exam on you. Your suicide bullshit isn't gonna endanger my team again." 

Jack sat up straight and looked ahead ignoring everyone until they got back to base and Jack spent fifteen minutes retching in the bathroom. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Dunno why Brock was so douchy in this chapter. He always struck me as someone who outs people, I guess? Anyway. Hope you enjoy the new chapter! I got like 4 comments on the last chapter, which is I think the most I've ever gotten, so I'm excited to update again. I'm open to ideas for chapter 3. ~The Void.

**Author's Note:**

> Jack is pretty much the one I abuse more when I'm feeling bad, so he usually has a lot of disorders. My mental health continues to suck, so here we are. And the title is a kind of sick pun on falling and my name. -Void


End file.
